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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27105097">If we'd only known</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kru/pseuds/Kru'>Kru</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>of witchers and bards [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, But also, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, First Meetings, Flashbacks, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Getting Together, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Goodbyes, Love, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, also quiet a lot of, and a lot of, because, in a dark places xd, well lets call it as it is shell we</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 05:01:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27105097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kru/pseuds/Kru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And then she sits with them in the great hall. The fire burns, crackling cheerfully in the background when Lambert tells one of his crazy stories, showing how he slew this or that monster. Jaskier interrupts him with sharp remarks and anecdotes on his own, driving the other witcher mad to the point he gives up and lets the bard play one of his ballads in the making. Ciri sits there, next to Geralt, plastered to his side in search of warmth and things she still misses and can’t have enough of after her lonely journey to find him – another human’s closeness. And she listens, and soaks in every word, and just like that she becomes a part of him. It’s like she was meant to be at his side. Irreplaceable. Natural. Constant.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>of witchers and bards [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626238</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>292</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>You might find attached a pure self-indulgence fic here, so please do not hesitate to forgive me in advance.</p><p>Bate by amazing <a href="https://locktea.tumblr.com/">locktea</a> to whom I'll be forever in debt.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt hears their voices before he even starts to walk up the stairs. With each step they grow clearer, words becoming more and more prominent before they finally develop into fully recognizable sentences. As he reaches the first floor he slows down, partially alerted but mostly interested in what he hears. He has been looking for the owners of these voices for a good hour now, and he didn’t expect to find them here, in this room, a good hour before the dusk.</p><p>Any other day, Ciri would prolong the time she could spend around the men in the keep. She would plead, argue, demand, and beg, using every one of her tricks on any of them so they would soften and let her stay longer. On the training grounds, they aren’t merciful. She learns and practices like all of them did back in the day. With the same fierceness and dedication, she is falling and failing but also rising and giving back after each of these setbacks. Within two months she’s made incredible progress. Sometimes, when she is immersed in her fight with an imaginary enemy, jumping on the fence and dodging a huge, hanging wooden hammer, he observes her with pride and joy and so many other feelings he had never thought he could feel. Still, even after all the hours spent on training, she always has enough energy to stay up after dark. Each day a little later, each day sinking into their world more and more.</p><p>And then she sits with them in the great hall. The fire burns, crackling cheerfully in the background when Lambert tells one of his crazy stories, showing how he slew this or that monster. Jaskier interrupts him with sharp remarks and anecdotes on his own, driving the other witcher mad to the point he gives up and lets the bard play one of his ballads in the making. Ciri sits there, next to Geralt, plastered to his side in search of warmth and things she still misses and can’t have enough of after her lonely journey to find him – another human’s closeness. And she listens, and soaks in every word, and just like that she becomes a part of him. It’s like she was meant to be at his side. Irreplaceable. Natural. Constant.</p><p>And he just stays there, startled at the beginning and so not used to this kind of contact with anyone except Jaskier. These simple human reactions, unpredictable and plain that don’t carry any agenda or reason behind them. He stays by her side and learns with her what it means to love someone unconditionally and without borders. And it isn’t only about her. It’s about everything. It’s like he has finally understood. He has understood Yennefer or Triss and why they’re going to be a part of his life. He has understood how much he loves Jaskier. And how much he yearns for him. For his presence and his help.</p><p>All this was there in him before, but now it’s expanding. He is expanding and evolving. He is mutating but this time into a human being with all the feelings and desires and the need to protect what he loves at all costs. And it’s all thanks to the fragile little girl that’s snuggling close to him each evening to listen to the stories of their lives.</p><p>And Ciri loves Jaskier’s ballads as much as she loves the tales of their adventures, but she adores Vesemir’s the most when he tells her about the good old days of Kaer Morhen. In these stories Geralt is her age, going through similar dilemmas and struggles. These stories she listens to with heated cheeks and big eyes even if maybe they aren’t fully meant for a child that she still is. And for these stories she wants to stay up longer, fighting for them so furiously.</p><p>That’s the way it’s been until he carefully approaches an ajar door at the end of the hall and peeks inside. The view takes him off guard for a moment. He had already heard the bargaining that took place in the room, the exchange of hushed words between the girl and Jaskier, and the final settlement of a deal for a story to be told. But he doesn’t expect to feel all of these emotions when he sees what was happening inside.</p><p>Ciri is tucked under the furs in a bed that’s meant to be for the adults. Only the shag of her ashen hair and a pair of green eyes peek from the cover. Jaskier props himself up at the headboard. Leaning in closer to the girl, he sinks down on his side. He looks tired. Even up from where Geralt stands, he can taste the bitter scent of worry.</p><p>Jaskier is right to be troubled. After all, it’s his last night at Kaer Morhen before he is going to travel down south to Redania where he is supposed to carry out their plan of covering their tracks. But even as that looms over their head, at this moment he also looks content and calm. He looked like he belongs. This looks like a family, Geralt thinks and finally decides to make himself visible.</p><p>“Can I join in?” He asks, pushing the door open. “Or is this a private storytelling session?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Jaskier pretends to debate on his decision, asking, “Are you going to behave?”</p><p>“Yeah, no interrupting and correcting,” Ciri warns him, prodding herself a little bit higher so he can see her whole face. “I want to know how it happened.”</p><p>“And you want him to tell you that?” Geralt snorts but comes closer, sitting at the foot of the bed when the bard pats the cover in invitation. Geralt leans at his side, propping himself comfortably as he adds, “He was drunk almost the whole time.”</p><p>“Please,” Jaskier snorts. “It wasn’t that bad.”</p><p>“Uhm,” the witcher hums with a small smile, muttering, “Whatever you say.”</p><p>“We’ll make a deal, Ciri,” Jaskier says decisively, leaning closer to the girl. “I’ll tell you my part of the story and maybe one day this brute here is going to tell you his. But till then, you’ll know the better bits of it. The juicy ones.”</p><p>“It’s a deal,” she agrees too easily, and suddenly demands, “But only if you promise not to sing. I just want to know how it happened and your singing makes the stories longer.”</p><p>Geralt snorts a laugh but gathers himself quickly when Jaskier gives him a disapproving stare.</p><p>“I just want to be able to last that long, that’s it,” the girl excuses herself, shrugging her skinny shoulders. “Because I fall asleep faster when you sing.”</p><p>“Alright,” Jaskier agrees gloomily and looking at the witcher one more time to meet his warm smile this time, he says, “No singing today, just talking.”</p><p>“I’ll stay to make sure of that,” Geralt proposes and spreads more comfortably on the bed.</p><p>“So, this will be an unedited version of the story of how the White Wolf, called at that time the Butcher of Blaviken, met a humble bard,” Jaskier starts with a calm but sure voice, showing with his hand an imaginary banner with the title.</p><p>And just like that, all these memories, all these pictures of their past lives, of the ones that were still separate and the ones that intervened together, make an appearance in Geralt’s mind. Memories of how they met, clear and colorful.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The day was slowly ending. The sky was painted in rich crimson, with not even one cloud. The glow dyed everything in a warm hue, making the small city of Gulet look like it had been on fire. It was this sort of sunset that happened only at the beginning of summer, one that soon he learned would be hot and heavy. A summer full of promise and hope. Summer that had been the beginning of something that would last decades.</p><p>He aimed for the stables after a fulfilled contract, wanting to give Roach a break. He was tired, his muscles called for a break, exhausted from the fight and potion’s overdose. The beast he slew, a male Royal Griffin, had been a tough one, huge but swift on his wings. It gave Geralt a good tussle before the witcher managed to throw it from the sky with Aard and finish it with his sword. Now, all he wanted was to collapse like a log in his horse’s pen and sleep for the next few days, but before he even made a move to take care of his horse, he heard quick steps.</p><p>Roach neighed softly when the sound also reached her and, in a few seconds, a breathless alderman of Gulet stormed through the door.</p><p>“Mister Witcher,” he started, trying to catch a breath, “Mister Witcher, what–” he went for it again but started to cough.</p><p>“Easy,” Geralt said calmly. “I won’t run. I still have the other half of my payment to collect.”</p><p>“About that,” the man huffed, resting his hands on his knees as he breathed in long inhales and exhales.</p><p>“What about it?” Geralt gave him a concerned look.</p><p>“Apart from the coin, people want you to join in celebrations,” the alderman finally managed to utter. “For the beast is gone. We can finally carry on like normal folk.”</p><p>“You managed to organize that rather quickly.”</p><p>“We prepared in advance,” the man took one more deep breath and finally explained. “For the fete to celebrate Belleteyn. We hoped you’d chase the beast away before the day came.”</p><p>“Ah,” Geralt murmured, not impressed. “Regardless of your effort, I would rather just take what I’m owed and get a bed in the inn.”</p><p>“I’ll make sure you will get the best room but first, please mister Witcher, do us the honor,” the alderman insisted, putting his hand on Geralt’s arm to emphasize each word with a squeeze, “We have excellent food and wine. I even got a few bottles of Est Est from Toussaint for the high table.”</p><p>“Well, if you’re serving Est Est,” Geralt tried for a nonchalant tone even if he didn’t know how the wine tasted, “Then I can’t say no to that.”</p><p>The man squeezed his arm one more time and patting it vigorously he pushed Geralt out of the stables. When they slowly walked to the market square the witcher was assured that his horse would be taken care of as another way to show him how the folks were grateful.</p><p>He was also reminded of how all of them hadn’t led a normal life for months and how the merchants couldn’t visit the town, scared of the threat that terrorized surroundings. All of them were getting poorer and poorer, not able to push out their goods to other parts of the Continent. The witcher didn’t know what goods made Gulet so famous, he had visited the town for the first time and only because of the Griffin, but they must have been selling something because when they finally reached the main square and he saw how big the celebration was, he was fairly impressed. He wondered how the festivities looked when the town wasn’t under distress. Now three tables had been set around a huge fire. They were bending under the weight of food and barrels with beer, all decorated with young, fresh birch twigs visible everywhere.</p><p>“You see,” the alderman started again, leading him to the main table. “Belleteyn is important for folks here. For us, this is the time when something ends, and something begins. A night when we can all have a fresh start after darker days. Isn’t that a beautiful allegory of what you gave us today?”</p><p>It wasn’t beautiful, not even in one bit, Geralt thought but didn’t say it out loud when the man started to introduce him to all guests around the table. Most of them were older men involved in the life of the town in one way or the other. A local banker, the barber, or the medic. They started to thank him, competing to pour him wine.</p><p>“We even have a bard in town! He promised to play while the girls made their sword dance,” the alderman announced with pride and looked into the direction of a small platform, discovering it was empty. “Colman, where the fuck is the damn vermin!”</p><p>“I don’t know, father,” a skinny man in his twenties that sat at the alderman’s right said shakily, “He was here a moment ago.”</p><p>His father hit him up the back of his head, shouting, “Find him! The girls probably want to start the dance.”</p><p>“I can help,” Geralt interrupted, hoping he would be able to escape this unusual setting and made a move to stand up while another man’s word stopped him.</p><p>“You, Mister Witcher,” he said slyly. “Must tell us how you defeated that whoreson’s creature. After all, we want to know what we’re paying you for.”</p><p>Geralt cursed under this breath, realizing what the invitation was really about. It happened to him sometimes. When the payment for the contract was particularly high or it took him too much time to fulfill the task, both events, in this case, people wanted to know how it happened so they could start to question the price. But like always, he had been prepared. Vesemir taught him not only how to fight or negotiate but also how to color the story. So, he told them how he had to get information about the Griffin from the place where they’d found bodies and how it was crawling with ghouls. He outlined another story about how he plundered the Griffin’s nest and then knew he would have to find some ingredients for bait. He painted a vivid picture of how he dived in the cold mountain rivers surrounding the town to find the herb that could draw the monster and how he fought with drowners occupying the banks to finally move to the main fight, explaining it step by step. He didn’t spare any details. He gave it all, all the blood and gore and filth, knowing that this time hiding behind his code wouldn’t help.</p><p>They listened to the story with open mouths and wide eyes and the fact that the alcohol had been poured like there was no end of it only helped. By the time he was done, all the men surrounding him had been drunk to the point where they would give him their daughters as payment if he had only asked for them.</p><p>The evening had fully developed as well. Local, unmarried girls had been dancing around the fire with their swords. It was a tradition for this kind of festivities, a small and symbolic form of games that had been held back in the days around this time of the year. Fast and lively music resonated throughout the narrow alleys of the small town even though he couldn’t see the famous bard among the amateur band. The flames crackled high up into the sky, sending hundreds of glowing embers into the air. Space had been filled with the scent of fresh birch. The sudden easiness of all this, the normality and warmth, made him even more tired. He relaxed because of the alcohol and the heat resonating from the fire. Again, he felt every single tired muscle in his body, every aching bone, an expected reaction from all the potions he drank earlier that day.</p><p>“I’ll take what I’m owed now,” Geralt finally said, standing up.</p><p>“Al-already!” the alderman mumbled, trying to untie a bag of coins from his belt. “The night is-ung,” added with a loud burp that caused cheers around the table.</p><p>The witcher didn’t even bother for explanations and hid the heavy bag that the man pressed into his hands. They wouldn’t remember when or why he left, and he preferred to be paid when they were still fairly conscious.</p><p>He left the table to the applause and toasts that still resonated among people when he aimed for the tavern. Following empty, narrow streets, he left the hustle and bustle behind. Noises were dying down slowly, giving way to the space of total silence. The windows of the houses were mostly dark. Even the street lamps weren’t lit this evening, leaving the town to the shadows and gloom of a particularly dim, moonless night.</p><p>It was then when he heard it – fast, light steps and rapid breathing. The potions must still be at work in his bloodstream because he recognized both sensations right away. Someone running away. Someone slender and fast. A woman? She was being chased. By three… No. By four men. Their steps much heavier, sounding like they might even be carrying weapons.</p><p>Geralt reacted instantly. It was a mere instinct. He hid in a very narrow passage of two buildings that connected at the end. The space was big enough to cover him completely in total darkness. A darkness in which he had no problem seeing in.</p><p>He started to wait. Their steps were growing, they were coming closer and closer. The light ones were first, a few good seconds separated them from those that seemed heavier. Good, he thought. He might have time. Not much. Barely. But just enough to…</p><p>He acted swiftly. He made a step forward and grabbed the person by the waist. In another second he pulled back, covering the runner’s mouth with his hand to hide them both in the darkness.</p><p>But it wasn’t a woman. It was a man. A young, slender but strong man. He started to writhe in his arms, trying to kick and scream. Geralt had to hold him tighter, close to his body.</p><p>“Be still,” he hissed into the man’s ear. “I’m trying to help you!” he pressed through clenched teeth.</p><p>The stranger mumbled something and tried again to slip out of the witcher's arms. The men were close though. Geralt could hear their threats and curses, all describing what they are planning to do with the fugitive.</p><p>He decided quickly. He had to make him quiet. So, he swiftly pushed the man to the wall. Spreading his legs with his own thighs, the witcher trapped the man between the cold stone and his own body. He made sure that his hand hit the surface and protected the stranger’s face. Holding tightly onto the soft lips, he muted any noise just in time for the chasers to pass them.</p><p>“Where the fuck is the dickhead,” one growled.</p><p>“Whore spawn,” the other stopped near them, spitting on the ground. “I will cut his fucking balls.”</p><p>“Don’t waste time,” another younger voice said near them. “He has an advantage over us.”</p><p>The man must finally catch up on Geralt’s plan, hearing this. He visibly relaxed in the witcher’s arms. He even tried to breathe slower through his nose as to limit noises, even though Geralt knew they wouldn’t hear them here. And in the few next heartbeats, he was sure that their steps were far enough away for him to release the stranger.</p><p>“Don’t scream,” he still warned him.</p><p>The man nodded once with the agreement and the witcher moved back just a little to be able to slowly take his hand, but he still didn’t let him fully go.</p><p>“Will you kill me?” The man said very quietly but Geralt was still able to sense his fear. “I don’t have money. I’ve even lost my lute,” he added with his voice breaking like he was about to cry.</p><p>“Don’t be an idiot,” Geralt murmured. “I just saved your life.”</p><p>The man let out a shuddered breath, resting his head on the cold stone. He inhaled deeply one more time, probably trying to calm himself down. Geralt could hear that his heart still beat like crazy. He felt that and so much more.</p><p>He felt the shape of a very slender, yet muscular body. He felt how it moved with every slowing down of his breath, flowing under him and pressed to the hard surface. He felt this strange warmth, this wave of delicate heat resonating that came only from another human being. A human being, something that he hadn’t held in a very long time. For years even. This particular human being smelled like lavender and rosemary. Like a warm day of summer. Like it was used to sleeping under the open sky, in the sun.</p><p>Geralt moved back instantly, mumbling under his breath, “You should be safe now.”</p><p>The stranger slowly turned around, dusting off of the dirt from the wall. His clothes had been ridiculous even for this part of the world – a purple, heavily embroidered doublet with matching pants. His shirt had been decorated with lace, but was now more gray than white.</p><p>“I’m a mess,” he whispered and added louder. “But an alive one. Who am I to thank?” He added stepping again closer to the witcher and trying to see him in the dark.</p><p>“No need to thank me,” Geralt grunted. “You can go now.”</p><p>“Oh, no, no, no,” the man made another step, and now the witcher was trapped between the wall and his fragile human body. “I’m Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, and I’m bound by my name to properly thank those that value my life to the point of wanting to protect it.”</p><p>“Great,” the witcher huffed more to himself than anyone else. “I get it. You’re grateful. Now you should go.”</p><p>“But I need to know to whom I should write a ballad!”</p><p>“A ballad?”</p><p>“That describes this heroic deed!” The exalted viscount said it like it was the most obvious thing on the Continent. “Of course, if I ever leave this town in one piece,” he added, quieter.</p><p>“Listen, I thought you were a woman running from a band of rapists,” Geralt said firmly, suddenly moving closer to loom over the other man. “Your light steps saved your life, so write a ballad to your mother, or father, or whoever brought you to this world and leave me out of it.”</p><p>The witcher thought that maybe now he would realize with whom he dealt and finally would react like everyone else. That when he saw his pale face, his yellow eyes with the dilated pupils glowing in the darkness,, he would finally shit his pants and let go. But instead of moving back, the young viscount came even closer, looking at him with something that could be described only as fascination.</p><p>“I know who you are,” he finally whispered. “You’re a witcher. The one that killed the Griffin. The<em> one</em> that killed all these people in Blaviken. Geralt of Rivia.”</p><p>“Then you should know I am no better than the men that chased you,” Geralt grunted, showing no sign that being recognized made any impression.</p><p>“Oh, but you are,” the viscount said unexpectedly serious. “Because I bet that those people deserved it.”</p><p>Geralt huffed out, feeling suddenly overwhelmingly tired. Shaking his head with resignation, he cursed under his breath. The night was starting to become a pattern. And for now, he had enough.</p><p>Again, he was mixing in someone else’s business. Again, he did too much for free. And again, he knew he was going to be the one that would lose the most because of it. And for what? For trying to be a hero? For someone? For anyone? No, he wasn’t responsible for this man. He didn’t owe him anything. He wasn’t some knight that aimlessly wandered through the wilderness to protect damsels in distress. And this wasn’t a damsel. Regardless of how handsome and how helpless Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Whatever, was.</p><p>“You know what, I’ll go,” he said and made a move to exit the shadows when he heard distant voices.</p><p>He swore again and stepped back into their cover, instinctively shielding the other man with his own body. The viscount understood this swiftly, hiding behind his back without additional questions or commentary. They stood there in silence for a longer moment. The street was so quiet and empty that the voices resonated clearly. Geralt could even recognize full words. Words that had been long and distorted.</p><p>“False alarm,” the witcher whispered when two staggering men slowly showed on the horizon.</p><p>“Wait, wait,” the viscount stopped him by an arm, pulling him deeper into the corner when he added, “What if they come back? I doubt that they will let this go that easily.”</p><p>Instead of answering that, the witcher looked at the man's hand clenched on his shirt, his long and elegant fingers, his hard, calloused fingertips. Only then he slowly moved his gaze to the viscount’s face.</p><p>“You’re the bard,” he asked rhetorically. “What did you do to these men?”</p><p>“Ah, well,” the man winced, weighing his words. “Do you want the short or long version?” He asked but seeing Geralt’s expression again, he said the next words very fast, “I banged their sister under the podium.”</p><p>The witcher growled and suddenly moved closer. The viscount, or bard, or whoever he was this time moved back but a wall behind him blocked any possibility to run further. Feeling trapped he only covered his head with his hands, adding even faster:</p><p>“She was willing, very willing,” he cried, “And I have never mistreated a woman. I love them. I worship them. They sense that and they throw themselves at me. Like she did. She even told me that she already gave her flower last summer to another and now she wants to explore her options, a modern woman that she is, but these morons think she’s still a virgin and that I ruined her chances for a decent marriage with a man that they chose for her!” He hissed out the last words, sounding panicked but still not wanting to raise his voice.</p><p>“Maybe you did,” Geralt growled again.</p><p>The viscount threw a doubtful look, adding flatly, “I don’t want to sound like I oversell my ability to conquer a woman’s heart, but I’ve slept with enough of them to know when they lie about that.”</p><p>For a long moment, the witcher just looked at the bard, observing his reactions, trying to smell any changes in his scent, traces of emotions that filled his body now.</p><p>Every witcher had a talent. Some of them could hear a little bit better than the rest, some moved faster, and others saw everything in total darkness without the help of potions. For Geralt, it was a sense of smell. He could not only catch traces of forgotten perfumes on someone else’s skin or feel the stench of blood even after years it had been spilt, but he was also able to catch the scent of an emotion. He could tell how anger or fear smelled. He recognized reserve and disgust. He also perfectly knew how lies felt.</p><p>He came closer, inhaled the bard’s scent one more time, taking a long and deep drag of it. Again, although delicate now, there was the scent of lavender and rosemary. The musky tones of the man’s sweat mixed with the one that must belong to the woman. The heavy notes of pleasure and fulfillment from before. Enjoyment. Pride. Satisfaction.</p><p>No. He didn’t lie. Geralt couldn’t find traces of sourness mixed with bitterness that lying normally caused. The viscount had also stopped being afraid. He still smelt a little bit of that metallic, flat aroma but it was quickly disappearing, giving space to so many different notes. He smelled like fascination. He smelled like hope. Like willingness and openness. Want. Intent. Trust.</p><p>The witcher suddenly moved back, saying harshly, “What do you want from me?”</p><p>The man automatically dropped his gaze. He suddenly saw something on his shoes, even though it was too dark for him to even be able to see the tip of them.</p><p>“How do you know I want something?” He asked quietly.</p><p>“What is it?” Geralt snarl.</p><p>The bard took a deep breath and said quickly, “The girl and her brothers... They’re the alderman’s children.”</p><p>“Fuck,” the witcher didn’t hold back this time. “You are stupid.”</p><p>“I learned only when her brother caught us!”</p><p>“I don’t know why I’m still here,” Geralt started, knowing perfectly why. “You have no preservation instinct.”</p><p>“I beg your pardon,” the viscount responded ferociously, clearly offended. “I managed to live till now and I intend to live ten times that!”</p><p>The witcher snorted, “Then why do you need me?”</p><p>“I left my precious lute under the stage!” the man burst and Geralt could swear he could see tears in his eyes when the bard continued, “This instrument is my everything. My source of income, my way to become famous, and my only travel companion.”</p><p>“Why don’t you just buy another one?”</p><p>The bard huffed an angry sigh this time, “I don’t have money. Last month was hard on my craft.”</p><p>“You’re a viscount,” Geralt said, shrugging. “I’m sure you have a nice, safe nest at one of the banks.”</p><p>“Not if your father disinherits you for not following his own dream of a  scientific career at the Oxenfurt university,” the man retorted quickly and asked suddenly, “How would you feel if you lost your swords?”</p><p>The witcher opened his lips to counter the argument but closed them the next moment. That was a good point. He didn’t even want to think about what might happen in that situation. For sure he would feel unsure of his future. Disturbed. Lost even. And furious.</p><p>No. He didn’t want to think about that. And he started to understand the viscount. He also understood that the bard was young, inexperienced, and incredibly carefree. He was no older than twenty, or younger even, which meant Geralt shouldn’t expect much from him. Being triple that age, he also shouldn’t compare the poet’s sense of reason to his own.</p><p>“You want me to retrieve that lute?” He finally asked and breathed out heavily when the man nodded vigorously, agreeing with a bitter, “Fine.”</p><p>“I’ll owe you my life!”</p><p>“Better not,” the witcher grunted. “I also don’t want to hear about the law of surprise. I want nothing.”</p><p>“A lifetime of ballads then,” the viscount promised with a brilliant smile. “And you can call me Jaskier. All my friends call me that.”</p><p>“I’m not your friend,” Geralt opposed firmly. “You’ll do more good if you tell me exactly where I can find the damn instrument.”</p><p>Jaskier did explain to him where he could find the lute. Truth be told, it was by far the easiest job he ever did but he never shared that with the bard. What came after was far more difficult to understand. The poet not only managed to invite himself into his room, not only rode with him to Posada during the first minutes of dawn, but also stayed with him for all the years after. He became his friend, his lover, his everything.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“And she’s finally asleep,” Jaskier suddenly communicates, tearing Geralt out of his thoughts.</p><p>The witcher looks away from the fire to find Jaskier’s eyes but the bard strokes Ciri’s hair gently, looking down at the girl with unabashed affection.</p><p>“You know,” the witcher murmurs. “I had in mind a different scenario for this evening.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t brood now!” Jaskier snorts, rolling his eyes as he adds, “You’ll have her all to yourself tomorrow when I’ll leave while I don’t know when I’ll see her again. It’s just fair for us to have a proper goodbye.”</p><p>The witcher huffs out a quiet laugh. Looking at the bard eloquently, he clarifies, “I had in mind our proper goodbye.”</p><p>“O-oh,” Jaskier finally catches up. “You mean<em> that</em>.”</p><p>“But now a child is in our bed, so that’s off the table.”</p><p>“You know,” the poet accosts, suddenly smiling brightly. “I have an idea.”</p><p>“What idea?” Geralt asks warily.</p><p>Jaskier only smiles. It usually means trouble but they’re in the keep, possibilities are somewhat limited and so is most potential collateral damage.</p><p>Without much thinking, the witcher only says, “Whatever happens, I forbid you to put this into one of your ballads,” and slips off the bed carefully as not to wake Ciri.</p><p>He holds his hand to help Jaskier and when the man takes it, he pulls the poet into his arms. In an instant his hands close around the slender waist, crushing it in a strong hold to bring the other body even closer. He hides his face into the crook of the Jaskier’s neck, inhaling his scent deeply. It’s still the same. It’s still lavender, rosemary, and traces of sun that lingered on his skin for the whole day.</p><p>Jaskier relaxes in his arms. Geralt can feel how the bard lets out a heavy breath, settling in this position. His hands immediately find their place around the witcher’s neck as he sinks in even deeper.</p><p>They stay like that for a long moment and Geralt realises what is happening. Jaskier is trying to memorize this. He’s trying to savor it, trying to remember how Geralt feels and how he smells to have something to live by just in case they… No. He doesn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not ever.</p><p>He suddenly moves back and finding Jaskier’s hand again, he takes it in a firm grip to give him a sign to follow. Surprisingly the bard still doesn’t say anything, and he just lets Geralt guide him out of the room. But when they are finally outside on the empty and dark corridor with the door shut bluntly behind them, he’s the one who suddenly pulls the witcher in some unknown direction, whispering, “Follow me.”</p><p>Seeing in the darkness, Geralt doesn’t have to be guided but he doesn’t let go of the poet’s hand. He allows the other man to reveal his plan step by step. And they don’t go far away. They even stay at the same level of the keep, following a narrow hall for a moment to suddenly turn. Jaskier pulls Geralt into a very small, windowless chamber. The witcher is so taken aback by the unexpected swiftness of the move that he doesn’t even notice when his head hits the closed door and his arms are instantly filled with the warm body that presses into him with urgency and need. Jaskier’s hands fist into his shirt with desperation to be impossibly near when the poet kisses him hard. And in this kiss, when Geralt answers it immediately, he can feel all the contained emotions, all the regret that already builds in there and all the longing still to come. The witcher allows Jaskier to pour all this into the kiss and to pour it out. There is going to be time for that, but not now, not when they can still be together.</p><p>Jaskier must sense that too because his lips touch him more delicately, slower, and with even more intent. Geralt’s hands settle on the poet’s waist, to clinch in the soft fabric of his shirt and the soft skin beneath it. And at that the bard leaves his lips, mouthing everywhere he can reach, dragging his kisses on the rough skin of the witcher’s jaw, his chin, his neck.</p><p>He’s focused on what Jaskier’s hands are doing and how his lips travel lazily on his skin but still, his instinct is too strong as not to have a look at their surroundings. The room is tiny and with not even the smallest trace of light but he’s able to detect that there are a lot of random things around them. A very old bunk bed, some old vases, vessels and crates, and even older tapestries and destroyed paintings all stuck on each other. The space smells like herbs, dust, and dryness that creates this specific earthy aroma. It’s not entirely unpleasant but also not fully comfortable for his senses. Nonetheless, he doesn’t complain, suspecting it might be the only place they can be alone right now.</p><p>“Where are we?” He still asks very quietly, being afraid that a louder noise will ruin this moment.</p><p>“I thought,” Jaskier huffs out a hot breath as his skilled fingers slowly work on the buttons of Geralt’s shirt, “You’d have known every corner in here.”</p><p>“Apparently not,” Geralt murmurs with a smile that suddenly gives way to a surprised groan when the poet takes a long lick up his abdominals.</p><p>After successfully getting rid of the shirt, Jaskier’s fingers start to efficiently untie his pants. In a few trained motions hot fingers slip into them, enlacing around his fully hard length. And just like that, he’s reduced to only wanting the other man. Just like that he’s consumed by him, by his lips that still follow the uneven pattern on his skin, by his fingers that unhurriedly work him to oblivion, by his scent that entangles them and pulls them into some kind of trance of pleasure and need.</p><p>Geralt’s hands clench on the bard’s hips. He digs his fingertips into the delicate skin there, trying to bring them even closer, to get more friction, to get just more of everything. He grinds his palms on the fabric of the pants, moving them lower and burrowing his fingers into the meat of Jaskier’s muscles to hold him near, to feel him even better.</p><p>At that, the poet’s lips come back to his. He bites hungrily, barely giving them time to breathe. And minute after a minute they stay like that. They are completely intertwined with each other, becoming almost one person, one being that breathes and moves thoroughly in sync.</p><p>And then suddenly the bard stops, his hands are gone. Flat, warm palms press into the witcher’s chest when the bard leans even closer.</p><p>“I want you,” Jaskier says quietly between one feather-like kiss and another. “I want you to have me here.”</p><p>“Here?” The witcher asks surprised, moving a bit so he can find the other man’s eyes.</p><p>“On this wall,” the poet adds quietly, catching Geralt’s lips again and then whispers into his mouth, “In the darkness. Like it could have happened back when we first met.”</p><p>Geralt smiles and takes the poet’s face in his hands. He licks into the bard’s hot mouth, tearing from the man’s lips a moan. With that sudden move, he also takes over the lead, pushing Jaskier back to press him into the near wall.</p><p>“Turn around,” the witcher murmurs an order and Jaskier instantly obeys.</p><p>The bard faces cold stones when Geralt presses against his body to mark the position they were in all those years ago. And then because this time he can, he puts his hands on the other man. He runs them along his arms to catch the poet’s wrists. Pulling them up, he traps them in a strong grip above Jaskier’s head. The bard gives out a shuddered breath at that, resting his forehead on the wall when Geralt’s other hand begins its travel down his body. Skillfully he unravels the laces of the bard’s shirt to hastily get inside and pull it down. And then he doesn’t stop there, running his hand down Jaskier’s body to suddenly push it into his pants. With one motion he pulls them down and quickly presses the bard back to the wall. The man makes a startled noise, quickly transforming into a moan when Geralt digs into his hips, colliding their bodies together.</p><p>“Are you sure of this?” He murmurs a question straight into the bard’s ear as he leans in, “You have to ride the whole day tomorrow.”</p><p>“Would you ask that if you had me back then in the alley?”</p><p>“No,” Geralt murmurs and smiles darkly as his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of the poet’s muscles.</p><p>Without warning he stretches them hard, pushing in his finger into the warm inside of the other man. Jaskier bends back. His head hits the witcher’s arm when Geralt releases his wrists and securely wraps his other arm around the bard.</p><p>The rhythm is slow. It’s slow, stable, and languid. The witcher wants to enjoy this. And he is still true to what they would have done back then. He wouldn’t rush this all those years ago, not with someone like Jaskier, so he isn’t going to hurry now. He wants to relish, he wants to remember this, he wants to have Jaskier’s scent on himself for days after. He wants the others to sense what they did.</p><p>He adds another finger and Jaskier chokes on a cry. He mumbles Geralt’s name now, begging him for more and for faster but they still have time. He only holds around the poet’s waist tighter, allowing him to fully lean on himself and works him open. Slowly, steadily and so lazy. He rocks his hand back and forth, luxurious and unhurried strokes of his strong fingers and little pushes of his body that from time to time press Jaskier into the cold stones.</p><p>When he adds another one, the bard is shaking in his arms. Geralt hides his face into the nape of his neck, pressing his lips in sloppy kisses. He tastes the saltiness, the sweat filled with want that also carries traces of all these ingredients of the man’s scent. The lavender, rosemary, and sun.</p><p>“You’re–” Jaskier tries to say but his voice breaks with the next, deeper movement of the witcher’s hand. “You’re torturing me,” he tries again.</p><p>“I can stop,” Geralt says calmly.</p><p>“No,” the bard quickly protests and demands after a bit. “Don’t.”</p><p>“Hmm,” the witcher only hums in lieu of an answer.</p><p>With that, he swiftly moves back. His fingers are gone but just for a moment because when he again comes closer to Jaskier, he slides into him with one motion, filling him up. The poet cries his name loud and for a second he softens in Geralt’s arms. If not for the wall and the witcher’s solid body that still presses into him, they could be on the ground. But Geralt is firm. His moves are still soft and slow. His other hand leaves the bard’s waist to slip lower, wrapping around Jaskier’s weeping cock. The rhythm is the same as in his body. He works them both deliberately gently. The strokes are long but deeper with each thrust of his hips and soon they start to move in complete unison. It’s more like a dance. Close, a very private dance of need and want. Even their moans resound in the small space with the same frequency when they slowly climb to their pleasure. Each blow. Each circle of their hips. Each lazy kiss. In and out. Slick and sweaty. It all brings them to the point when Geralt feels hot, stickily fulfillment on his fingers. And that’s it for him. He comes with Jaskier’s name on his lips, keeping him close when the last of his groans are muted by the bard’s skin.</p><p>They stay like this for a long time. It seems to be like forever. It should be forever. Geralt has his face hidden in the crook of Jaskier’s neck. The poet’s head rests on his arm. His sweaty hair sticks to the witcher’s cheeks. His palms still flat on the wall and hips still pressed to Geralt’s groin. And the witcher still has his arms tightly wrapped around the bard’s waist as he stays inside him, slowly softening.</p><p>“If I’d only known,” Jaskier hums and his voice carries traces of a smile.</p><p>“What?” Geralt moves his head to be able to leave a soft kiss on the poet’s shoulder as he adds, “Known what?”</p><p>“When we met,” he clarifies slowly. “If I’d only known you’d want me, I would throw myself at you back then. But when you grabbed me in the dark and I felt your big, harsh hands on me, I could only pray for you to ravish me before murdering me.”</p><p>“Idiot,” Geralt mutters with a soft laugh, leaving another kiss behind Jaskier’s ear this time. “It wouldn’t be ravishment if you were willing.”</p><p>“Don’t ruin my fantasies,” Jaskier complains and he slowly turns in the witcher’s arms to face him.</p><p>Geralt smiles confidently, saying, “I thought I’m helping in making them true.”</p><p>Jaskier prepares for another retort, probably something smart and wordy, but the witcher doesn’t allow him to even start because he claims his lips again, using the fact that the bard is still trapped between him and the wall. Besides, Jaskier doesn’t protest. As always, he melts into Geralt’s arms with all the trust and confidence he has in him and in this, both feelings present between them from the first moment they’ve met.</p><p>“Geralt,” the poet whispers into his lips and moves a bit to be able to find the witcher's eyes in the dark. “Promise me that when we see each other again you’re going to be in one piece and alive.”</p><p>The smile fades from witcher’s lips and he looks down at the poet, suddenly serious, taking in a heavy breath to finally respond quietly, “You know I can’t promise you that. You know I’ll protect her with everything I have.”</p><p>Jaskier nods slowly, a gesture Geralt senses more than sees when he kisses his face, and adds, “But I can promise you something else.”</p><p>“Anything,” the bard whispers, “I’ll take anything.”</p><p>“I promise to always try to come back to you.”</p><p>“I’ll hold you to that,” Jaskier warns him and then adds with a lighter tone, “Come on, I’ve prepared a splendid bath in the room up in the tower. It might not be as hot as I’ve planned but I bet I’ll be able to make up for the lack of warmth. And Vesemir put a new bed in there. We’ve got to try it before Triss comes.”</p><p>Geralt snorts a laugh, reaching for Jaskier’s pants. He pulls them up and ties the strings while the bard takes care of the laces of his breeches. They work seamlessly together, their fingers brush from time to time while the witcher steals from the poet’s lips one more kiss.</p><p>If I’d only known, Geralt repeats in mind the words Jaskier spoke a few minutes ago and smiles again. No one could have known that this would end here, with them in a similar situation and yet in one that’s so very different from their first meeting.</p><p>They travelled millions of miles, they travelled different spheres of their relationships, and yet this feels like they’ve closed some kind of circle. A circle that it’s not an end. A circle that is also not a beginning. A circle that goes around and around, like a painting Geralt saw at Melitele's temple that presented a snake eating its own tail. It somehow gave him hope. And now, when he holds Jaskier’s face in his hands to kiss him again before they leave the room, he gets why. Now, he finally understands, because he has all these people to love and to care about. Now, he knows that there could never be an ending or a beginning to this. To them. Because love is limitless. And this lack of boundaries it’s exactly what gives him this hope.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
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